I Know This Much is True
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Joe was shot four months ago during a case and the Hardy's haven't solved a crime since. Now, healing and hurting, Joe is left to confront a new enemy: Frank's girlfriend Cathy, a psycopath who will stop at nothing to remove Joe as a threat to happiness. Trigger-warning for attempted rape.
1. I

**A/N: Yes! Another Hardy Boys fic! It's like we can't stay away from these guys, they're just so lovable. Anyway, this one goes out to the Marching Band, which will be taking away our life for the next two months.**

"_I want to know have you ever seen the rain coming down on a sunny day?" __**Creedence Clearwater Revival**_

Joe looked up smiling when Frank walked through the door. It wasn't often that Frank was out later than he was. He opened his mouth to ask his brother about his night when he saw that the dark-haired boy wasn't alone. Oh.

He threw himself back onto the couch, his good mood completely gone. How could he have forgotten about Cathy? She had moved to the town half-way through the school year, enrolled in all geek courses, and picked up a boyfriend, his brother, within two days.

And, yeah, Joe knew that Frank was smitten. He hadn't seen his brother this much in love since Callie had left him a year ago, telling Frank that she couldn't take the cases anymore and moving to Wisconsin with her parents. And Joe didn't blame Callie, not after he'd killed his own girlfriend.

But Cathy was different. Though Joe and Callie had never exactly been bosom buddies, they'd gotten along as best they could for the better part of three years, and had a fair few laughs together. Cathy had already targeted Joe as her victim, her arch enemy.

Joe loved and trusted Frank more than anyone on Earth. He'd been saved by his brother more times than he cared to count, and had returned the favor just as often. They were closer than most brothers, which made it so much harder when Joe realized that someone was trying to cut him out of Frank's life.

Pretending to be engrossed in his book, Joe held completely still, living by the principle that if you can't see them, they can't see you.

"Hey, Joe, you had a good night?" Frank called to him from the doorway, ever the big brother. Their parents were out of town and would be gone for almost three weeks. It was their twenty-fifth anniversary. The boys had convinced the couple that they were trustworthy enough to be left alone, but Joe hadn't factored Cathy into the equation when their parents had left.

Popping his head above the couch, looking warily at the Amazonian red-head standing just as tall as Frank, an inch taller than Joe, the blond replied. "Just kicking back with Remarque." He pronounced the last name _remark_ and hoped that was right, because Cathy would do anything to rip him…

"You mean RAY-mark, right, Joe?" When Cathy smiled, she showed all her teeth. Like a dog. Joe gulped and turned away from her, holding the book closer to his body and wishing it was hardcover. He'd once seen a hardcover 1,000 page copy of _Atlas Shrugged_ stop a bullet.

Frank kissed Cathy then. Joe could hear it, and imagined the girl as a succubus, stealing Frank's soul. That wasn't overreacting, was it? "Good night, Cathy." Joe called, hoping no one would detect the iciness in his tone.

Cathy smiled up at Frank, then turned to Joe. She looked like she wanted to attack him. "Joe, will you help me with my car? It's making a weird noise." Joe snorted at the description but made to get up anyway, pausing for a moment over the cane resting beside the couch. He shouldn't need it, right?

"I didn't notice anything." Frank said, bemused. Joe shook his head, marveling at his brother. Had Frank always been so dense? "And I can help you fix it."

Again, Cathy kissed him, stealing more of his soul. Joe shuddered, then slinked forward, because he knew that Frank would be disappointed if he just flat-out refused to help his girlfriend, even if he happened to be dating a she-devil.

It was cold outside. Winter in Bayport brought temperatures that could drop well below zero, and while that night wasn't quite as frigid as it could be, it was still definitely below freezing. Joe shivered slightly, trying not to appear affected by the temperature. It wasn't smart to show weakness to a wolf.

When they got out by Cathy's car, the tall girl turned to him, eyes narrowed. "I thought I told you to stay away from my boyfriend." Her voice was like daggers, but Joe merely tilted his head, hot with anger.

"He's my brother, and it's my house. Sorry for living." Joe shot back, blue eyes flashing.

"You will be." Cathy promised quietly. "You may have been the dynamic duo before, but those days are over. Frank has me. Why would he need you?" Joe had figured out long ago that Cathy was most likely certifiably insane, or at least majorly OCD. She had an idea that she wanted Frank, and only she should be able to have him. The biggest threat to her happiness was Joe, Frank's partner and confidant.

Joe glared at her, trying to figure out if it was okay to go against all his morals and punch a girl who was really Satan's spawn. "Get out of here, bitch," Joe settled on, biting out every word, "And leave my brother alone."

"Oh, why would I do that?" Cathy simpered getting into her car. She waved goodbye to Joe, dangling something from her hand. Joe looked, then frantically felt at his neck. The necklace he always wore, the one Iola had given him when they were fifteen and just starting to go out, was gone.

"Hey!" Joe yelled, throwing his arm into the car only to have Cathy slam the door on his hand. Joe let out a scream as the unexpected pain shot through his fingers. He glanced at the house, knowing Frank must have heard him. Cathy had to have thought the same thing, for she was out of the driveway before Frank appeared at the door, knife in hand. The Hardy brothers had a right to be paranoid about some things.

"What happened, Joe?" Once Frank realized there was no attacker, he dropped the knife onto the table just inside the door and went loping out to his brother, who was doubled over around his right hand. "Hey, let me see." Frank gently pried the hand out from the comforting pressure and touched each of the fingers, feeling every bone. The hand was swollen and bruised but hopefully unbroken. "What happened?" Frank asked again.

He watched his brother crumble before him, folding in on himself in a totally un-Joe manner. Joe was lively and animated and always ready to tell a story, especially if he was the main character. "Nothing. Just slammed it in the hood when I finished checking it out. Her car's fine." If Joe could have his way, he'd leave a pipe bomb under Cathy's hood, but Frank didn't need to know that. He was crazy about Cathy. And Joe wasn't about to mess that up.

Joe painfully flexed his hand, smiling at Frank as best he could. "I'm fine, bro. Need some ice, though." He took a step and wavered, teeth clenched as his knee buckled. Immediately, Frank's arms were around him, and his brother's voice was in his ear. "Tired, buddy?" Joe could only nod.

The leg wasn't from Cathy, or any other person. It wasn't from falling over his own two feet, or off the boat. He'd been shot on their last case, right below the knee. It was a miracle, the doctors said, that no bone had been shattered. Only muscle had been damaged, most likely permanently.

Which is why Joe had to let Frank have Cathy, because he was the reason why his brother couldn't solve crimes anymore. He had been impulsive, clumsy, and had paid dearly for it. But after his accident, they just couldn't take cases anymore.

That had been four months ago, and they hadn't solved crimes since. Now Joe's leg was healing. He could walk straight, except in the early morning or when he was tired. He could occasionally painfully run. He couldn't wrestle, or play football, or run track, or solve cases, so he'd taken to reading and playing golf with Chet. It was a poor substitute, but one Joe took in stride. He was only disappointed that he'd let Frank down. He would never be able to fix that.

With Frank helping him, Joe got inside and on the couch, picking up _All Quiet on the Western Front_ with his good left hand and gratefully letting the icepack sit on top of his right one. Frank sat next to him, watching. Joe knew that Frank worried about him. Bayport was a small city, but it was still a city, and a month ago Joe had been jumped. He'd been able to swing his way out of it, but barely.

"You like Cathy, Joe?"Frank asked suddenly. He'd picked up a Rubix cube and was absentmindedly fiddling with it. There were several lying around the house. Joe would mess them up, only to watch Frank put them back together again, because that's what Frank did.

Joe looked at the book until the words blurred. "Yeah, I like her." He murmured, thinking about how fast Frank seemed to have fallen for this girl. Maybe she was a demon. "I like her fine." He let one hand touch the base of his neck, feeling for the necklace that was supposed to be there.

**How is the first chapter? You will hate Cathy even more within a few chapters. She's a witch.**

**Please, please review.**


	2. Gotta

"_Life is pain; anyone who says differently is selling something." __**The Princess Bride**_

Frank smiled at Cathy, putting out a hand so she could lace her fingers between his. They were in the parking lot of the movie theater, but he was seriously considering not seeing a movie. Being with Cathy was all the entertainment he needed. Of course, it would be better if they had the Hardy's van and not Cathy's tiny car, but the van was at home in case Joe wanted to use it, though he wasn't technically supposed to drive until he passed the test again. Something about putting cripples at the wheel…

"Just give me one second, Cath. I need to see where Joe is." The incident last month had given Frank a scare, and he wasn't willing to let the whole thing happen again when he was in charge.

He could still remember driving home along his usual route, which took him through a slightly seedier section of town. It brought back memories of his and Joe's detective days, when they'd scour these streets for hardened criminals. Now, he was just trying to get home.

A man stumbled out of a side alley, one leg collapsing under him, his face and neck bloody. Frank braked hard, trying not to hit the man. He leaned his head out, his heart quickening before dying in his chest as he saw achingly familiar blond hair. "Joe?" He called, wiggling the door open and running to his brother. "What're you doing here?" He'd offered to give his brother a drive home after school, of course, but Joe said he was meeting up with Biff and Chet.

"Sorry, Frank." Joe gasped. He wasn't hurt terribly badly, and though the cuts on his face were bleeding hard, Frank knew this is what to expect from a head wound. "Should have…waited." He tried to stand, then collapsed again, cursing.

"They kick you?" Frank asked, looking around for any sign of the people who had done this. He only saw an old man pushing a grocery cart. He yanked Joe's pant leg up, rougher than he meant to, which made Joe gasp in pain and reflexively grab for his leg. "Sorry, bro. Let me see…"

Joe's leg, which had been operated on to get the bullet out, had been left remarkably intact following the incident, with little outward signs of the weakened muscle it housed. Long, red stripes ran from mid-calf to mid-thigh, but the doctors promised these would fade in time. Now, though, the entire appendage was black and blue. "You aren't standing, Little Buddy. Can you put your arm around me?" While in the hospital and during Post-Op, Joe had lost a staggering amount of weight. Frank knew that he could carry his brother if he had to, but it would just embarrass Joe, who had to put up with enough demeaning situations as it was.

Biting his lip, Joe nodded and looped his arm around Frank's neck, pushing himself up with his left leg, face contorted with pain. As always, when Frank touched him now, he was sure that his little brother would break at one wrong move. Weight loss had pushed out collar and cheek bones, giving Joe a delicate frame, though the boy was working hard to put on muscle.

"Just a few steps…" Frank murmured, then said, even quieter, knowing that too much pressure would just make Joe cave back in on himself. "Who did this, Joe?" It was probably no one he knew. It was probably a street gang who had seen a slightly smaller teen and decided he was an easy target. But they could always press charges, however futile.

Joe sighed. He'd been doing that a lot after the accident. "I could have taken them before, Frank. I know I could have."

And that statement, said so quietly, resignedly, was the reason why Frank had to call Joe as he got into the car with Cathy. He just had to make sure. When he grabbed for his phone, though, Cathy already had it in her hand.

"C'mon, Frank. He's a big boy. You'll be back at the house in a couple of hours." She flipped the tiny phone in her hand.

Frank's eyebrows came together at that. He thought Cathy had understood his need to protect his baby brother. "I just want to check up on him. He's probably not even home, anyway." Though Joe had spent more and more nights around the house, reading, he still enjoyed the company of his best friend, Biff, and the two spent most evenings together.

Cathy's eyes flashed with something Frank hadn't seen there before. Anger, maybe, or jealousy. Then a loving look came to them and she touched Frank's arm, making it warm. Making _him _warm. God, he loved her. More than anyone before, even Callie. "Why don't you go inside and get the tickets? I'll call Joe."

She smiled at him, and Frank's reservations gave way. He got out of the car, poking his head back in a second later. "Ask him if he wants to see the movie." Frank said, thinking that his brother would like this particular flick, a remake of a musical they'd seen often as children. Cathy waved, indicating that she'd heard him, and he went inside to get the tickets.

At home, Joe was getting his ass served to him by Biff in chess. He was never very good at the game and rarely won, though he did love to play. Some of his strategies were brilliant, though too involved or risky to win. When the phone rang, Joe reached for it, still contemplating the board.

"Hey, Frank. How's the date with your vampire?" Joe had always referred to his brother's various girlfriends by the names of the undead, though it was only with Cathy that he was serious.

The voice on the other end of the line wasn't Frank's, though. It was low, somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. "Frank told me to call you. He must think you're too pathetic to help yourself."

Biff's bishop stole Joe's rook and he sighed, though his frustration was mostly directed at the girl on the other end of the line. If Biff hadn't been sitting in the room, he would have given the girl a piece of his mind. As it was… "So, are you and Frank having a nice time, Dracula?" He asked pleasantly as he moved his pawn only to let Biff sneak in to steal his other rook.

"He invited you to a movie, you worthless cripple, but if you show up here, I'll make your life a living Hell."

"Oh, you've done too much already." Joe assured her, watching as the game crumbled before his eyes. Biff had only two moves to make before the inevitable came.

"Checkmate." Biff said, happily cornering his King.

"Whore." Cathy hissed, and hung up, leaving Joe to use the phone to knock over his king.

"Great game, Biff." He reached up to run his hand through his hair and winced. He'd forgotten that Cathy had slammed it into the door the night before. It wasn't broken, but it was still twice the size of his other hand, black, blue, and disgusting-looking.

Biff also eyed his hand, though he wore a smirk on his face. "I can't believe you slammed the hood on it. That's, like, in car guide for dummies, page one."

"Yeah." Joe muttered, still distracted by Cathy's call. Sticks and stones, but still…he'd never not gotten alone with one of Frank's girlfriends. Not like this.

"Hey, you okay man?" Biff was second only to Frank in the mother-hen department. Though they'd always been close, the two had become inseparable, especially at school, following Joe's accident. Biff, three inches taller and, now, almost a hundred pounds heavier, provided ample protection for the jerks so eager to take one of the great Hardy brothers down a peg.

In the living room, Biff swept the remaining pieces off the board, handing Joe the white ones. "You've been kind of…down, lately." It was a rare thing to see two guys talk about their feelings, but that didn't mean they didn't worry about each other just as much as any girl.

Biff had seen Joe get stronger by the day after being shot, pushing himself to be better than anyone had expected. But his psyche had taken a turn for the worse, and the previously upbeat boy had expressed frustration at his situation and doubts that he'd recover as much as he'd hoped. Though Biff couldn't think of anything more to do, other than sit by his side and wait for the eventual reconciliation with the events that had happened, it didn't mean he wasn't just as aggravated as Joe at the actions that had occurred, even if it had been out of his control.

"I'm fine, Biff." Joe sighed, moving out the pawn that was in front of his Knight and rubbing his leg absentmindedly. "Just trying to re-think my life. My whole future centered around detective work."

"I know, and you've been doing great, Joe, but that doesn't mean I don't worry." He thought of the bruises on Joe's leg, which hadn't completely faded in the month between the incident and now. He thought of the swollen hand and assorted other cuts and bruises that had been cropping up with surprising regularity for the past few weeks. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Joe looked at him, cracking a true smile. "Yeah, Biff. I know." Except this, because Biff would think him a coward, too weak to take care of himself, if he told his friend he was intimidated by a girl, hurt by a girl.

He wasn't a coward. He was stronger than Cathy. He had to be.

**Review. That's all we ask for.**


	3. Know

"_Better to die than to crawl." __**Newsies**_

School was miserable for Joe, which was a new, odd feeling for the boy. While he had never excelled quite as much as Frank in studies, he'd always been a willing and eager learner, and had special enthusiasm for History and Law. Unfortunately, Cathy had joined him in both those classes.

"Hey, Joe, how was your weekend?" Tony asked, grabbing a couple of books from the top of Joe's pile. Tony was also in Law.

"Fine. I can carry those." Joe made to grab them back and almost tripped while Tony looked at him with an unreadable expression. Frank and Tony were a lot alike, which is probably why they got on so well; they were both careful, responsible, and protective of Joe.

"You two have the whole house to yourself, right? Have any wild parties?" Tony grinned, making his dark eyes almost disappear. Joe smiled back, though his was timid. "You know I didn't."

They went around the corner and started down a new hallway. Joe groaned when he saw Frank and Cathy up ahead. His brother had carried her heavy Law book, the one Tony was holding for Joe, and gave it to Cathy, kissing her lightly.

"Hey, Tony, what do you think of her?" Joe nodded at Cathy, who had disappeared into the classroom.

"Cathy? I think she's a fox. It's nice to see Frank go out with someone after Callie, but if he didn't have her, you better bet every guy in the school would want her. Why? You have a crush?" Tony poked Joe in the ribs and the younger boy swatted him away.

"Yeah, a crush."He rolled his eyes: if only Tony knew. "She's…really tall."

"Nice to see that you're not all about the body, Joseph." The two ducked into the classroom just before the bell rang, causing both boys to smile with relief. They were notorious for being a few seconds late.

The class went smoothly, except for a few minutes before the end when Joe's cell phone, sitting as ever in his front pocket, vibrated. Glancing up at Mr. Murray, who led the class, Joe slid the phone out of his pocket and checked the text message.

ONE MORE TIME: YOU'LL REGRET STAYING IN MY WAY.

Joe sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a habit he'd picked up from Frank. He quickly texted back, managing to keep looking up at his teacher as he did so, HE'S MY BROTHER, BITCH. Cathy brought out the worst in him. He got so angry, imagining that _thing_ with his brother.

After class, Joe waved goodbye to Tony and started down the hall, trying to hide the limp that was becoming more pronounced with every step. It was near the end of the day and the pain in his leg was starting to get bad, protesting to the strain that was put on it.

He was at his locker when a shadow literally loomed over him. Turning, arms already crossed, Joe raised an eyebrow at Brent Bishop, a Senior notorious for his hazing of Freshmen, muscles, and dim wit. "What's up, Brent?" He tried to keep his voice even, slamming his locker and trying to move out the door. He had gym last period, but had been excused from it since his injury. He just wanted to get home.

Predictably, his way was blocked. Joe sighed, wishing for his Law book back. It would make a good weapon. "I heard you're a cripple now, Hardy."

"Have been for a few months, Brent, but I wouldn't expect you to remember that. Limited space and all…." There was no way around the brawny boy and his two cronies. Joe was wondering, vaguely, why there always seemed to be two henchmen when he spotted Frank greeting Cathy down the hallway and smirked, knowing that Brent had not seen his brother and almost wishing the boy would punch him.

It had taken a few seconds to process the comment, but when he did Brent used a meaty hand to slam Joe against his locker, making him see stars. "I don't see no crutch. You must not be hurt that bad." The boy aimed a kick at his left leg, which bruised but didn't make Joe even wince, though he was clawing at the hand around his throat to release him.

Already people were crowding and an oddly silent circle formed around the four in front of the locker. Frank was looking straight at him…Joe flailed his body, but his arms had been pinned by the cronies and he could do little against the three boys, each of them outweighing him by a hundred pounds. _Come on, Frank_.

Brent looked at him, grinning, reveling in Joe's helplessness. "Guess I got the wrong leg." The boy brought his foot back and sent it crashing on Joe's injured leg, an inch below the knee.

Even Brent's choke hold could not entirely block Joe's scream of pain when his entire body arched, protesting, as red-hot fire flew from his leg. It felt broken, flaming, and cold as ice all at once. His face turning blue by now from lack of oxygen, Joe brought his other leg up as high as he could in his position and desperately kicked Brent before he laid down another blow.

Laughing at his feeble attempt, Brent kicked him again, drawing an "oh" from the crowd of kids. Through his pain, Joe looked for Frank and saw him walking away from the scene, disappearing down another hallway. _What? _He thought, knowing he must have seen wrong. The brothers would never walk away if one of them seemed to be in trouble. Ever.

At the moment, it was oxygen that he craved, even more than release from the pain. He couldn't take even the most shallow of breaths, and began to see spots of blackness that he knew from experience signified impending unconsciousness.

"Yo!" An angry voice called, and Brent was shoved aside, leaving Joe to fall on his bad leg, too out of breath to even cry out. He saw the vague outlines of Biff and Chet knocking the attackers out of the way. Within seconds, the three dispersed and the halls emptied; a bell had rung somewhere off in the distance.

"Breathe!" Someone ordered, and whacked him on the back, all Joe needed to begin coughing painfully, inhaling breaths of air as he did so. A different voice, said, scared, "Geeze, Joe." Biff. Joe was hauled into a sitting position where he leaned against a large shoulder, his right leg curled up to his chest.

"What'd he do?" Chet, sounding angrier that Joe could ever remember. "Did he kick you?" Joe nodded, his hand desperately clutching at his leg, willing the flames that had erupted in his knee to go away.

"Damnit!" Biff said, standing up, supporting Joe, then looking around, "I thought I saw Frank here…"

"He left." Joe panted, desperate to get the story out. "He saw me…he and Cathy…and he turned around and left."

"No, he didn't." Chet soothed, slipping his arm around Joe's shoulder so he was supported on both sides. "It must have been someone else."

"It was him." Joe insisted, tripping painfully. The bruise on his other leg was deep, and he couldn't put pressure on either leg, as neither would support him. He let out a moan of pain that sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

Biff easily put his arm under Joe, carrying him like a child. They both knew, from many painful, embarrassing experiences, that the fireman's carry would only irritate his leg further. "Sorry, man, but you needed to get out of here." Biff murmured, walking quickly until they reached the doors, where Chet suddenly stopped.

"I can cut, I only have shop." Biff explained. "Why don't you find Frank and tell him what happened? I'll take Joe home." The weight in his arms shifted as Joe passed into a sort of dissociative state to deal with the pain. "If he doesn't get better, I'll get him to the hospital, but I want to avoid that." Chet nodded, and Biff continued on, pushing open the doors.

"Joe, you need to eat more." Biff told his friend, loading Joe into the backseat of his car. "I worry about you, man." Joe didn't say anything, though he did nod curtly, a whimper escaping his throat. Biff's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

He and Chet hadn't punched Brent, though Biff had seen red and was hot with rage by the time he got to Joe. Punching the boy, he knew, would only get him a detention, and he had seen, during his sprint down the hallway, a girl in the crowd, Amelia, who was a goody-two-shoes and would go to the administration as soon as the fight was over. When she told the story, Biff didn't want to come off as a bad guy.

But if they had been out of school….Biff honestly didn't know what he'd do. Seeing Joe curled up on the ground, in pain, more defenseless than he'd ever been, made Biff so angry, and when he got into that state, it wasn't easy to drag him out.

"You okay, Joe?" Biff asked, glancing in the rear view mirror at his best friend, who was cradling his swollen, bruised hand to his chest while his arm was looped around his leg. His expression was distant, unreadable, but at Biff's words he jumped.

"Yeah." Joe murmured, "Sorry." He was embarrassed, frustrated by his new, sudden lack of strength and his inability to protect himself.

"Don't be. Brent's a jerk. I'm just glad we got there in time. It looked like you were about to pass out."

Joe's expression turned sour and he looked down, making a fist with his good hand. "Frank was there. He _saw_ me. And he left." His tone was so hurt, betrayed, that Biff felt his heart break at the sound of it. "Why would he leave me?"

"He didn't, Joe, Frank wouldn't do that." He made sure he had eye contact with Joe before he continued, "I know I don't know much about school or anything, but I know this much is true, your brother loves you, man." Frank doted on his younger brother, and was as taken in as anyone else by Joe's charm and strength and bravery. But even as Biff said the words, he doubted them. Because he did remember seeing, as he flew down the hallway, a tall, dark-haired boy being led away by an equally tall, grinning girl.

**Poor, poor Joe. Just a note: Yeah, Frank's a little out of character, but he'll get better. He really does love Joe. He just has no idea how much of a witch Cathy is. He thinks she's perfect.**

**Get it? Got it? Good. Please review.**


	4. If

"_And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you can know." __**Simon and Garfunkel**_

"_What_ happened?"

Frank stared at Chet, his voice growing louder without him even realizing it. Chet had met up with him after his last class and said, quickly, that Joe had been in a fight.

"Well, it wasn't really a fight." Chet explained, his own voice growing quiet even as Frank's got louder. "More like a…jumping, or something. Brent and his friends ganged up on him after 9th bell, and hurt him pretty bad."

"Where?" Frank needed all the details, because he was beginning to feel a slimy, dark think grow in his stomach.

"His knee, I think. Me and Biff carried him out. He couldn't walk, Frank." Chet sounded sad, and tired. "Biff took him home."

Frank shook his head. "Where was the fight?" Because he remembered something, a lurching in his stomach during that bell. He remembered turning to see a scuffle right behind him.

"In the five hundred corridor, in front of Joe's locker." Chet shook his head, his voice coming out uncharacteristically bitter. "They're such cowards, ganging up on him when they know he's been hurt. Brent was strangling him. Joe had nearly passed out by the time Biff and I got there."

"Got where?" Cathy asked, putting her hand on Frank's shoulder. Frank shrugged it off, his worst suspicions confirmed.

"I was there." He turned to Cathy, looking at her incredulously. "We were there. We _saw_ that fight."

"What?" Chet asked, voice rising in pitch. "You were _there_ and you didn't help Joe? What's wrong with you?" His emotions, loose and wild since Joe's attack, bubbled, hot and angry, and he lashed out at the person who should be protecting Joe at all costs. Who had failed his duty.

Frank glared at Cathy. "You said it wasn't Joe. I asked you if it was him and you said it wasn't, that it was Jack Finkle." Frank accused, naming a Sophomore who was so similar in coloring and build as Joe that the two laughingly dressed up as each other on Halloween. "You _told_ me." Frank's voice cracked and he turned away from her, back to Chet.

"Chet, you know that if I'd thought it was Joe I would have helped him. Hell, I should have helped Jack…" He trailed off, trying to remember why he didn't jump into the fray, and again turned to his girlfriend, bemused. "You pulled me away from there. You said you felt dizzy and had to sit down."

Cathy narrowed her eyes and flushed deeply. "I did feel dizzy. And I thought it was Jack, Frank." Her voice turned pleading. "You have to believe me, I don't want anything to happen to Joe."

Frank stared at her for another second, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay." He turned hard again. "But he could have been really hurt because you gave me the wrong information."

Cathy's cheeks got even redder. "Anyone could have mixed those two up."

_Not anyone_. Frank thought. He could tell his brother from anyone in the world, and he knew that Biff and Chet and Tony and even Callie could have. But Cathy had only lived in Bayport for a few weeks. She had to be cut some slack.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Frank said, tersely, "Joe's okay?"

"Yeah." Chet nodded slowly. "He's had worse. But he was in a lot of pain and, Frank." Chet lowered his voice so that Cathy, who was trailing behind contritely, couldn't hear. "He saw you walk away from him. He's more hurt by that then anything."

"Oh, God." Frank paled, trying to imagine what Joe felt when he saw Frank turn his back on him while he was being beaten up. "Is there any way he'll forgive me?" He asked Chet, quietly.

"Let's see him. Then you will apologize. A lot." Chet shook his head again, and Frank knew that his friend was disappointed in him, could tell by his expression. It was the first time something Frank had done had really and truly let Joe down, had resulted in him getting hurt.

A hand touched his arm and closed on it, making the tense muscles there relax. "It'll be okay, Frank. Joe's a fighter." Cathy's voice was soft, scared. But it was all Frank needed to relax a little bit, to begin breathing again. He had to figure out what to say to Joe.

Biff's car was parked outside the Hardy's house. Frank flew out of the van, shouldering the door open. Biff was sitting on the couch, his arm draped over Joe's shoulder. "He's sleeping." Biff said, his voice a whisper, afraid of waking the finally slumbering boy. He had spent the first forty minutes trying to figure out the extent of the damage and had surmised that Joe had only sustained a flesh wound, but a painful one. Now he was acting as a pillow, though whether Joe had passed out from the medicine or sheer exhaustion, Biff didn't know.

Frank held a hand out, letting it hover over Joe's head, smoothing damp blond hair back. "God, Joe." He murmured, taking his hand away. "I'm so sorry."

"What happened?" Biff asked, trying not to shift his position. Joe twitched in his sleep, one of his hands reaching for his leg.

"He was there. Saw Joe pinned against the locker and he just walked away." It was obvious that Chet was still mad at him, and the normally peaceful boy looked ready to lunge at his best friend. Everyone was on edge where Joe was involved. He just had that kind of personality that made you want to save him, even if he didn't want or need your help.

Biff turned at Chet's words, "You _what_?" He hissed, gripping Joe tighter. Though Joe had told him just that, he didn't believe, didn't want to believe, that Frank could have just walked away. "Why?"

"I didn't know, Biff, believe me. You know how much I love Joe." Frank kneeled next to Joe, watching him sleep. "I wouldn't have left if Cathy…" But he wasn't going to blame this on his girlfriend. It was his fault. All his fault.

It was his fault Joe was hurt in the first place. They had been on a job, searching a house or a suspect. They had found a room with pictures of the murders…Frank was using his camera phone to get the evidence while Joe kept look out. "Frank," Joe had whispered. "They're here. We need to leave."

"One second." Frank had replied, snapping more photos. Why, he thought, would you keep picture trophies of your murders? "Don't worry."

Joe had hovered by the door, shifting his weight. Neither boy, as a rule, carried weapons, but Joe took out his switchblade, meager help as it would be against a gun. "Frank…" he'd moaned, and just as the older boy turned, ready to run for it, the door had flown open.

They had called for backup as soon as they found the room, since the men, who were supposed to be just petty thieves, had turned out to be so much more. Mr. Hardy had lamented, after the fact, that it was his fault, as he was the one who let the boys take the case. He'd thought it was less dangerous than it had turned out to be.

But it was all Frank's fault that his younger brother had been shot, that his leg had been ruined. Because when the door burst open, Frank had been standing in full view while Joe had managed to get behind the door. The weapon was pointed at him, before Joe tackled the guy, his form perfect. The gun had gone off somewhere in the scuffle, and Joe had yelled out, the scream tearing at every part of Frank's heart, before going deathly still.

The men had run, of course, thinking that Joe was dead. They were caught by the police, who were storming up the stairs at the sound of Joe's scream. Frank had turned Joe over, a sigh of relief coming out as soon as he saw Joe's chest rise, even as inside him he knew what he would carry with him for the rest of his life, his guilt, his burden to bear. He had ruined his brother's life.

Everything that stemmed from Joe's wound had been his fault, from the repeated surgeries to his brother's limp to his mugging. But this one took the cake.

Joe blinked his eyes open, smiling painfully when he saw Frank, before frowning slightly, gritting his teeth in pain. Frank reached for him, but Biff pulled Joe away, just out of his reach, glaring at Frank.

"Oh, Joe. I'm sorry." Chet and Cathy stood on the other side of the couch. Chet was still red with rage, while Cathy had no expression at all. Frank assumed that she was just trying to take all this in. She hadn't seen nearly as many fights as the others had.

"Frank…you weren't…you didn't see?" Joe's eyes drifted shut repeatedly, and he yanked them open again, fighting the drug-induced urge to sleep. He needed an answer.

Swallowing hard, Frank touched Joe's chest. "Yeah, I did, bro. I'm so, so sorry."

Joe looked away from him, blinking back tears of pain and betrayal. He'd been crying a lot more since the accident, and hated himself for it. "Why?"

Frank shook his head, refusing to drag Cathy into this. "I'm sorry." He said again, because there was really no excuse.

"It was my fault, Joe." And when Frank looked up at Cathy, he could have sworn he saw a flash of pleasure on her face as she admitted her part in Joe's injuries. But then the look was gone, and she looked apologetic again.

"Oh." Joe murmured, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, Joe." Frank whispered, feeling more terrible than he had in a long time.

"No. It's okay." Joe yawned, his shirt coming up to expose a concave stomach….defined ribs. He glanced up at Biff, then at Frank. "Can I switch pillows?"

Frank smiled tightly as Biff stood up and Frank took his place. He was glad Joe had forgiven him, but he felt even worse, if possible, because Joe hadn't yelled, gotten angry or emotional like the old Joe would have. With one look at Biff and Chet, he knew that they hadn't forgiven him. And from the way they were looking at Cathy, they had put her in the doghouse, too.

Biff was staring intently at Joe, though whether it was because of his worry for his friend or his refusal to look at Frank, the older boy couldn't tell. "I'm out of here. Chet, come with me?" And Frank didn't need an explanation for their whereabouts. Though both were genial, gentle fellows, they weren't above roughing someone up if the other party had started a war.

With his hand on the doorknob, Biff turned around. "Frank, give him something to eat, okay? He weighs, like, _nothing_." Frank nodded. He had noticed that, too. It was impossible _not_ to notice.

The boys left, and Frank settled back into the couch, his arm wrapped protectively over his dozing brother. "You should leave, Cathy." He said, trying to convince himself that it was because Joe would be asleep for a while, not that he was angry at her for her part in Joe's injuries.

"I really am sorry, Frank. I didn't mean to." She leaned over the couch and kissed Frank lightly on the lips. Then she moved her head down to Joe and whispered something, smiling.

Joe stiffened slightly, but didn't wake up when a girl whispered, her voice crackling like fire, "I told you so."

**Review? Pretty Please?**


	5. Your

"_And any time you feel the pain, Hey, Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders." __**The Beatles**_

Joe let out an _oof_ as the air was pressed out of his lungs. He made to shove Cathy off of him, but she pounded on his still-hurting hand with hers, causing a shock of pain to go through his system. He instinctively bucked her off of him just as Frank walked into the room.

"Ow, Joe. You hurt me." Cathy pouted, rubbing her side as if the foot-and-a-half drop to the ground had actually injured her. Joe turned away from her, nursing his wounds.

Frank frowned at his brother, who had never been rough with girls. "Joe…" he said, his voice carrying a warning that made Joe bow his head and shrug his shoulder, muttering something along the lines of _she started it._

Sighing, Frank tousled Joe's hair. He and Cathy had made plans to go out, but since two days before when Brent had picked a fight with Joe, his brother had been withdrawn and moody. Frank knew that he must still harbor ill feelings towards him for walking away, and he didn't blame him for that, but he wished that Joe would just punch him and get it over with. His brother was not usually one for sulking.

Plus, when Joe was quiet after getting hurt, it meant he was _really _hurt. Small injuries, insignificant ones, were marked by many curses and complaints, while the larger ones tended to fester and boil under the surface while Joe maintained a quiet façade that fooled no one.

"When's Biff picking you up?" The two had a long-standing engagement to spend Tuesday nights at Mr. Pizza's with Tony, taking up a back booth and playing cards or board games together. It was a night both boys looked forward to.

"Seven." Joe answered, not looking up from his latest novel. Frank checked the cover: _Catch-22_. What happened when you were caught between a rock and a hard place. Glancing up, a roguish grin played across his features so that he looked the like the old Joe. "Go on. I don't think I'll be beat up in…" he checked his watch, "..fourteen minutes."

"Yeah." Frank said, wrapping his arm around Cathy. "You make sure that Biff buys you a whole pie, okay? And eat it. You're getting too thin. Mom and dad will think I've been starving you."

From this perspective, Joe looked all lines and angles; his one knee bent, as ever, kept close to his chest, bruises exposed, his elbows cocked at ninety degree angles. Even the planes of his face stood out sharply. On someone else the effect might have been handsome, but on Joe the weight loss made him look drawn, tired.

Something inside of Frank made him want to cancel his plans with Cathy, who he still hadn't entirely forgiven for Joe's injuries, and go with his brother and Biff to Mr. Pizza to beat them both in Scrabble, like they had spent the last few months doing, all three boys pretending they wouldn't rather be solving mysteries, going on dates.

Instead, though, Frank smiled sadly. "See you, bro. Love you."

"Back at you." Joe answered, "Freak."

"Jerk." Frank smiled, leaving the house knowing that, this, at least, hadn't changed. Though Frank was never afraid of showing sentiment, when Joe was twelve he thought that admitting he loved his brother was a sign of weakness, and had taken to calling Frank a freak every time their mother wasn't in earshot. Soon, it turned into an endearment, as much one as _bro _or _pal._

Cathy clutched his arm, her voice coming out low and cold, "You shouldn't let him talk to you like that. He's very rude."

Frank shook his head, explaining, "No, really, he's okay. It's just something we do."

"It's not right. You need to teach him respect." She didn't move when Frank kissed her. Sighing, he got into place behind the wheel of her car; they were leaving the van for Biff and Joe.

Inside, Joe read and tried to forget about his brother's terrible girlfriend. He wasn't upset with Frank, though he knew that his brother thought that he was, because he knew that it was Cathy's fault that he had walked away from the fight, that Cathy had somehow manipulated Brent to beat him up in the first place.

Maybe he was getting paranoid. After all, how much power could a new girl hold over the toughest kid in school? But Cathy hated him enough that she just might have had a part in the attack. And it wasn't just the physical beatings that Joe took that was wearing him thin. Cathy took every opportunity to call him a cripple, a whore, a murderer. Anything that she thought would sting she used.

But Frank loved her. He lit up every time she was around. So Joe would have to endure. He would have to deal.

"Ready to go, Joe?" Biff's call sent Joe two feet in the air and he rolled off the couch, landing awkwardly to try to avoid hitting his injured hand and leg. As it was, he still hissed in pain; his entire body was basically one big bruise. Peering over the side of the couch, fighting the instinct to help his fallen friend, Biff whistled, "that had to hurt."

Joe stuck his tongue out and closed his eyes, too tired to get back to his feet. "You've killed me, Biff. How does it make you feel?"

"Like pizza. Come on, I promised Frankie I'd buy you a pie." Joe snickered at the use of Frank's childhood nickname. Oddly, Joe hadn't been the one to bestow it, but Iola, the word coming out like_ Fwankie_. The name had stuck until eighth grade, when Frank decided to act more grown up. Surprisingly, the memory of his dead girlfriend didn't make Joe feel guilty or want to cry, as he would have six months ago. Now, he just felt a deep sadness, almost nostalgia.

He climbed awkwardly to his feet, ignoring the pain from his right leg, now horribly black and blue, and let all of his weight fall on his left. "Okay. Can I drive?"

"Nope." Biff snagged the keys from a bowl on the counter, forgoing his motorcycle to ride with Joe. He had gotten the motorcycle so that he and Joe could go on trips together --- now there was a learning curve involved with Joe riding the bike again, plus he needed to get a new license…so many things were different.

Joe nodded, catching up with Biff, glancing once at the cane propped by the stairs. He had considered using it tonight, when the only people he'd be around were Biff and Tony, but had decided against it. Cathy had done this to him. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he was in that much pain.

Suddenly, the ground lurched, then fell away entirely, and Joe grabbed onto Biff's arm, trying to steady himself, gasping. A wave of dizziness came and passed in a second, but it was enough to leave Joe panting, wondering.

"Hey, man, are you sure you're alright? We could just stay here. Tony could run us over a few pies." Biff was worried about Joe, worried that he was pushing himself too much, that he wasn't letting his body recuperate. Most of all, he was worried that his friend was disappearing before his eyes. The hand on his arm was feather-light, translucent.

Shaking his head, Joe shouldered the door open, carefully stepping down the stairs. It was getting colder; he didn't know what he would do when winter and ice came. "No, let's go out." Turning around to face Biff, still silhouetted in the door, he said, sighing, "I'm fine, Biff. This is how we roll." He chuckled, lifting himself into the passenger seat of the van and ignoring another wave of nausea. He'd visited his doctor that morning, who'd upped his pain meds again. He'd been expecting these side effects.

Leaning back, Joe knew he'd never be able to finish two slices of pizza, let alone a pie. _Sorry, Frank_. He thought, closing his eyes to will the dizziness away. He knew that Biff, Chet, Frank, and Tony all thought he was withering away. Joe thought so too, sometimes, when he looked at the mirror or the scale and noticed the lost weight, mostly in muscle. He always sighed at this realization, forcing himself to remain upbeat. If he hadn't gotten shot, he'd never have found reading, or figured out that he liked history. Books were the best thing to come out of the accident.

Biff started up the car, glancing at Joe as he did. "You're _sure_ you're up for this?" Biff was worried, for good reason. Twice on an outing with his best friend, Joe had collapsed, cursing, during short walks, leaving Biff to carry or drag him over to a bench or the car, waiting for him to regain his strength. It was an embarrassing cycle that had repeated itself less and less as Joe recuperated, but there was always the possibility.

"I'm seventeen and hungry, of course I'm up for this. _Mom_." Biff ignored the slight and stared at him for only another few seconds before starting the car and talking about the latest crime-based television show. Smiling, Joe listened and replied, getting more animated by the minute, despite his increasing headache.

At Mr. Pizza, the two argued over which game to play, and finally narrowed it down to _Scrabble_ and _Clue._ "You cheat at Clue!" Biff exclaimed, already taking out Scrabble, the only game he could win at. Joe had good words but no strategy with placing them.

"Ha!" Biff cried happily, laying out his tiles on the board. Joe examined them and groaned, calling Tony over to be judge.

"I don't think _em_ is a word!" Joe said, pointing at the word _little _which was placed right above Biff's latest victory, _midgets. _Tony glanced at the board and coughed, informing Joe that _em_ was how you spelled the letter 'M'.

"So that's…triple word score, plus fifty points because I used all seven letters…134 points, Joey. Which I think is more than your current score." Biff laughed at Joe's expression, taking another slice of pizza.

"I knew we should have played Clue." Joe complained, staring at his own mess of tiles _I-P-G-C-R-O-Z_. His head was pounding and his stomach was so queasy he'd only been able to choke down a single slice of pizza, and that was only because Biff was staring at him, hoping he'd eat.

It was Biff and Tony who ate most of the pie. Tony, though he was both bussing tables and working the cash register, had time to surreptitiously point out words to Joe and steal tiles from Biff. Mr. Pizza was short-staffed and, though Tony was aiming for CalSci or even MIT, his father was urging him into 'the family business.' Apparently, Mr. Prito claimed that pizza was in every Italian's blood.

"Science is in my blood." Tony complained to the boys, sitting next to Joe and putting his feet up on Biff's chair. "And pizza's in his. He has the money. So we just cut a deal…I bus tables for the rest of the year and he'll let me manage the books and Mr. Pizza 2 next year. I get half the earnings, and can go to whatever school I want." Tony sighed, rubbing his face. "I am just so _sick_ of pizza."

"I can help you there, mate." Biff said, polishing off either his fifth or sixth slice.

Tony forced a smile on his face. "So, where's Frank tonight? He can whip even Biff's ass at Scrabble." Tony would know; he'd been beaten at Scrabble many times by his best friend.

"He's still going out with that Cathy girl." Biff said, shaking his head. "Man, I don't know what it is about her, but she gives me the creeps."

Joe perked up at this, staring intensely at Biff. Could his friend finally be catching on?

"Yeah. I know she's new and everything, but I heard she steered Frank right away from the fight Tuesday." Tony said, shaking his head. "You okay from that, by the way? I heard you were AWOL from school."

"Yeah, got a trip to the doctors and got to spend the rest of the day at the library because I don't have my own ride." Joe said. "But I'm fine." Joe shook his head, which had begun to buzz. Again his insides lurched. "Except the doc upped my pain meds again, and I think they're…" a wave of nausea, and Joe shuddered, sputtered, making Tony and Biff eye him warily.

"Joe, man, you don't look good." Biff was already standing, palms flat against the table. Tony, right next to Joe, was peering at his face, suddenly completely white.

Joe gave another violent cough, spitting blood all over Tony's white apron. "What the---" Tony began, even as Biff shouted for someone to call 9-1-1.

"Guys…?" Joe said, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Where's Frank?" Then he collapsed, sending the _Scrabble _tiles flying, spelling out the word _crip _or, if you read it differently, _RIP. _

_Rest in Peace_.

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	6. Sweet

"_You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged. Oh, I realize it's hard to take courage in a world full of people you can lose sight of it all. And the darkness still inside you makes you feel so small." __**True Colors**_

Frank had planned this in the same careful, methodical way he planned everything. Before school, he had gone to the boat house and loaded the _Sleuth_ with the all-important food. Then, with Cathy, they climbed on and went to the middle of the lake, where they drifted.

"This is so beautiful, Frank." Cathy breathed, looking up at one of the cliffs that dotted the shore. Frank, too, glanced up, the grabbed for the steering wheel, getting them closer to the middle, away from that particular rock face. "What's wrong?"

Frank stared at her for a second; surely, she had to remember. But, as always happened, Frank reminded himself that she hadn't been there, so she wouldn't know. "A year ago, Joe was kidnapped. He was left in that cave to die. We found him within a few days, but…" he let his sentence trail off. Joe had been unconscious, had been _this close_ to bleeding out from one of the many wounds inflicted on him. "I just don't like to be close to there. Bad karma."

Cathy huffed, her expression annoyed. "Why do you always talk about Joe?" she complained, edging closer to Frank. "Even when we're not around him, you end up bringing him up."

Frank had never realized this, but he _did_ talk about Joe a lot. Most of his stories included his younger brother. "He's my brother. And he's my best friend. We spent all of our time together up until his accident." Frank ran his hand through his hair, guilty, frustrated. "He was a good detective."

Cathy stared out at the lake, biting into her sandwich, thinking about this. "He's kind of a screw up, isn't he?"

Shooting a look at his girlfriend, Frank tried to quell the anger that boiled up automatically at the slight. _She doesn't know Joe. She's new_. Frank kept up that mantra until he was able to take a deep breath, preparing to straighten the girl out. Because she couldn't be more wrong.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Looking down, Frank slid it out to read the text message displayed on the screen: JOE IN HOSPITAL. COME ASAP.

"Oh, God." Frank murmured, reaching for the ignition with one hand and replying with the other (ON MY WAY, BE THERE IN 10) while saying to Cathy, "sorry, love, but we have to cut this short."

Cathy huffed, though a flicker of a smile might have ghosted across her face before she assumed the appropriate features of worry, "what's wrong?"

"Joe, he's in the hospital." A myriad of circumstances flew through Frank's mind; Biff and Joe, the car flipped, trapped under two tons of metal. Joe, being caught in a random crossfire inside of Mr. Pizza. Joe, falling forward on his suddenly inadequate legs and rolling. "Damnit!"

There had been a couple of nights interrupted, back when they were doing cases. A few dates, even, had been put off temporarily because Joe had been kidnapped or beaten or drugged. Once he'd been stabbed while on a case, and Frank had been inches from him. Another time, he'd been nearly suffocated while sleeping in the hospital.

The boat was at the dock within four minutes, and Frank had it secured in another two. He sprinted to the car, thinking of thugs and car accidents and a boy whose legs weren't nearly as strong as his heart. He threw open the door just as Cathy appeared on the other side, panting.

"What's the rush?" She asked, her voice low, coy. "You'd think there was a fire."

Frank could only stare at her. "He's my brother, Cathy." He said, all the explanation that was needed, and slid into the car, twisting the keys in the ignition as a pouting Cathy moved into the passenger seat.

Before he even got into the hospital, he found Chet, also running in, his prized yellow jalopy parked unevenly near the entrance of the hospital. "What's going on, Frank?" he asked, his voice high and uncertain. "Is he okay?"

Frank could only shake his head, needing more information. "Tony and Biff were with him. I was out." He was so upset at himself for that, so guilty that he'd left his brother, who had been too withdrawn all day, right after he'd been attacked.

Together, he and Chet pushed open the hospital doors, stepping into the familiar chaos of the emergency room, Cathy a few steps behind him. Tony was collapsed in one of the seats, his head in his hands, still wearing his Mr. Pizza uniform. When Frank shouted his name over the din of the room, he stood up and crossed the space between them with a few large strides.

"Biff is with him…he got taken to the back as soon as we arrived. All I've been able to figure out is that he needed to have his stomach pumped."

Frank gaped at him, mind flying. "Why?" He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice, as much as he wanted to. He himself had gone through that painful, embarrassing experience after being poisoned by a criminal. It wasn't pleasant, and left one feeling nauseous and ill for days afterward.

Tony could only shrug helplessly, his small frame appearing even smaller. "He passed out at Mr. Pizza...we were just playing Scrabble." He ran a hand through his hair. Had all of Frank's friends picked up that habit? "Then he was on the floor…shaking…he vomited a couple of times before the ambulance got there." Tony shook his head.

"The EMT's asked if he'd taken any medications lately." Tony said quietly, staring at Frank, past him, dazed. "I told them that he had…that he'd been taking pain meds since the accident, and that he'd just gotten them switched that day. They thought that, maybe, he'd gotten the doses mixed up, or the doctor gave him something too strong for him to stand."

Again, Frank could only gape, stare, attempt to comprehend. It was Chet who finally asked, his voice scratchy and high, "you mean he _overdosed_?"

Quick to placate his friend, Tony said, hands up, "No…seriously, Biff is in there with him and he's totally okay."

Frank's hands seemed permanently glued to his head, so often they were in his hair. "My parents told me to look out for him." He snorted, thinking of the past week. "He's…gotten his hand suspiciously crushed, been beaten up by an overweight Senior while I was standing right down the hallway. Now he'd overdosed." Suddenly, he whipped towards his girlfriend, who had been standing quietly while they talked. "You gave him his meds. How many did he take?"

"I gave him the recommended dose." Cathy said. "Two pills. Maybe the dose was so much stronger than what he was used to that his body rejected it?"

"Maybe." Tony said, nodding, and just as the word came out of his mouth their names were called over the loudspeaker, followed by a room number. Frank was in the lead, nearly sprinting in the right direction; he knew all the shortcuts, having been in the hospital far too often.

It didn't take them long to find the room, and they just managed to squeeze inside, Frank, Biff, Chet, and Tony gathering around the bed, Cathy somewhere in the background. The boys seemed to fill the tiny room to capacity, seemed to make Joe, thin and ashen looking on the bed, even smaller.

"Hey, bro." Frank put a hand on Joe's arm, fighting back the emotions raging within; regret, anger, sorrow, worry, pain. Joe smiled back tiredly.

"You know, I managed not to wind up here after Brent. It's, like, the universe _wanted_ me here." Joe laughed a little. "They say I can go home tonight, though."

The doctor, who had disappeared beneath the bodies of the teenagers, materialized, young and even more exhausted-looking than Joe. "Joseph had his stomach pumped, which is a pretty painful procedure. The toxins should be gone from his body, but nausea and a slight fever are to be expected. I would suggest he rest for most of the day tomorrow." He stumbled towards the door, tossing over his shoulder, "a nurse should be in here shortly with a wheelchair and papers."

As soon as he was gone, Frank knelt next to Joe, coming down to his level. "What happened, Joey?" he questioned, not able to entirely keep the residual fear from his voice. He could see that his brother was relatively unhurt compared to the scenarios he'd been running in his head, but he had to be sure.

Joe shrugged, uncomfortable. "I was feeling dizzy most of the night. Biff was kicking my ass at Scrabble. I was only able to eat a slice of pizza." His words were broken up as the boy struggled to remain awake. "Then…it just got black. Like someone had slipped me chloroform." Which had happened enough times that both knew the sensation, the distinct smell. "And when I came to…they were putting a tube down my throat."

His hands were twitching. Frank smoothed Joe's hair, matted with sweat, and noticed again that his brother was suddenly small, delicate, light. Before, he'd wrestled, had been a first-string football player, had run track. He'd been a hundred eighty pounds of unreserved muscle. Now…he was perhaps down to a hundred twenty, a hundred ten. Too small, too tiny for his still-long frame.

Biff broke the following silence. "I won Scrabble, Joe. By a hundred and sixty-four points." He smiled a little, but it was broken around the edges, cracking with guilt, with helplessness. "The word was _Falling_."

Joe's laugh turned into a cough midway. He glanced up at Tony, fidgeting in his polo, and grinned the old, boyish smile. "Still on duty, Tony? How are you going to get to school if you run off every time a customer passes out?"

"That happens a lot less often when you aren't around, kiddo." Tony said back, then looked at his watch. "Besides, we're closed by now. Or at least I hope Nicco closed up." Tony said, referring to his fourteen-year-old brother, a kind, deaf boy.

The nurse walked in with the chair and handed Frank a clipboard with a stack of papers. Frank sighed, mentally preparing for the phone call to his parents when they got home, explaining Joe's injuries and the hospital expenses. The boys began fussing over Joe, nudging him into the chair, all exclaiming over his weight; Chet even offered to bake him one of his world-famous anything-goes cakes.

Cathy came and took the clipboard and pen from Frank's hand. "I'll take care of this, you get Joe home." She smiled at his bewildered look and kissed him. "Not exactly the best date, but I'll deal. We'll go out soon, without interruptions."

Frank smiled, forgetting about the girl's insensitivity earlier in the evening and believing her instead to be a Godsend. "Thanks, Cath. I'll make it up to you, I promise." He retrieved his brother from the guys, who were beginning to wheel him down the hallway, Biff making sarcastic car noises that were causing Joe to laugh/wheeze.

As Frank took the handles, he squeezed Joe's shoulder. "Stop scaring me, Joe. I'm getting too old for this."

Joe looked up at him, a goofy smile spreading over his features, probably from the drugs and exhaustion. He pointed, giving a bad Patrick Stewart impression, "Warp five, Mr. Worf. Engage." He coughed, and everyone laughed, nerves now reduced to shreds.

Frank said goodbye to the others in the parking lot, thanking Biff and Tony for taking care of Joe and assuring them that, no, he would not force Joe to go to school the next day. It was Biff's joking opinion that Joe was getting hurt on purpose to get out of school. "I'm on to you!" He called, getting into Chet's jalopy. Tony had driven the Hardy's van to the hospital, but he got into the car as well, letting the brothers ride home alone.

In the car, Joe was nodding off in the passenger seat. Frank glanced at him and mused, "I wonder how high your meds were that they made you that sick." He was suddenly angry at the doctor. "I mean…you almost OD'd on them."

"I know." Joe murmured, his head tucked against the window. "I couldn't believe Cathy when she said the dose was six pills. I guess it was a few too many." He twisted, trying to get comfortable, as Frank stared at him.

Frank pulled the van over to the side of the road so he could stare at Joe head on. "Wait…Cathy gave you _how_ many pills?"

Joe looked up at him, eyes unfocused, bleary. "Six. She said that _you'd_ said that was the recommended dose. Why?"

Shaking his head, Frank went over the scene in his mind, when he'd asked Cathy point-blank how many pills she'd given his brother and she'd replied, easily, confidently, "two."

**Review? Please?**


	7. Love

"_A brave man once requested me to answer questions that are key. 'Is it to be or not to be?' and I replied, 'oh why ask me?'" __**MASH**_

"You could have killed him!" Frank roared, his voice rising well above his normal standards. "I can't _believe_ you!" He rarely yelled, rarely got angry, but when Joe told him that it was Cathy who had given him an overdose of pills, Cathy who had put his life in danger, he lost it.

For her part, Cathy was looking truly remorseful. "Frank, I'm so sorry. I thought that since he'd just gone through so much pain and he'd be out all night, he should have some more, to make sure he _wasn't_ in pain." She flushed and touched Frank's elbow, making him pull away. "I don't have that much experience with prescription medication. I didn't know…"

Frank wasn't buying it. "You're seventeen and smart. You must know that you can't just take as many pills as you want." He was calmer now, but in a strange kind of way. His voice was quieter, but he was still seething, so angry he thought he would burst. "Cathy, you could have killed my brother. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Frank, I do. And I really am sorry." She leaned against him and he spun out from under her, almost shoved her, but he wouldn't stoop to her level.

He was piecing some pieces together. Cathy's comments, her strange attitude around Joe, the way she'd dragged him away from the fight. "Cathy…you _like_ Joe, right?" It was impossible for him to think otherwise. Joe was a smart-alec sometimes, and a little reckless, but he had a heart of gold and courage. And he was Frank's baby brother, always.

"I like him fine, Frank." She sounded truly surprised at the question, and Frank had to wonder whether he was being paranoid. "I'm not trying to…_off_ him, if that's what you're implying."

"No." Was he? Did he think that Cathy was trying to kill Joe? He sighed, looked at Cathy, then looked away. "I'm still _so_ angry at you, Cathy." He muttered, clenching his fists, thinking of Joe, at home and asleep.

Frank had been about to skip school to stay home with him --- he was really missing his parents at this point, not knowing what to do with Joe so injured and defenseless --- but Joe had pushed him out the door, insisting that he was fine, that Nicco, Tony's younger brother, would be staying with him, and that Biff, Tony, and Chet had already promised to stop by during their free periods.

Cathy touched his face gently, her face a picture of remorse. "I didn't mean to, Frank. What can I do to make it up to you?" She was quiet for a second. "What if you and me stayed in tomorrow night? I can apologize to Joe." She swallowed hard. "If he…doesn't feel comfortable around me, I'll break it off with you. If you want." Her face tilted down.

Frank shook his head slowly, began to walk away. "I can't, Cathy." Even he was surprised to hear the tears thick in his voice. He loved Cathy, God, he loved her, but she'd been _this close_ to killing Joe. And nothing she did could make that better.

Cathy nodded. "He's very important to you, isn't he?" Something flickered across his face, in her voice. Jealousy? Hate? Impossible. And when Frank opened his mouth to answer, and, finding no words coming, nodded slowly. He kept walking away until he forgot about a girl with flaming hair and a beautiful smile, until he forgot about true love, until the only thing he could think of was a blond boy, broken and waiting for Frank to make things all right.

Joe woke up late in the morning, his entire body sore both from the pounding he'd received a few days before and the results of getting one's stomach pumped. When the door opened and the pungent odor of soup permeated the room, he groaned and turned away. "Get that _out_ of here, Nicco," he demanded, his growl coming out squeaky as his voice cracked.

Nicco Prito, Tony's younger brother, set the bowl on Joe's bedside table and sat in the desk chair. He was a small boy of fourteen, and he tapped his head twice, signing, "Frank told me to make you eat."

Joe sighed and stretched, giving the universal signal that he was pissed off, making Nicco laugh. The boy was deaf, had been from birth, but was none the less an excellent companion. He was usually away at a privet school for the deaf, where he boarded, but was home for an extended weekend.

Though Joe's sign language was clumsy, he mouthed the words as he said them, knowing Nicco was proficient at reading lips. "Don't want to eat. Sick." He didn't particularly want to sit up either, but did that anyway, knowing he had books downstairs and homework to make up.

Seeing that Joe was on the move, Nicco bounced to his feet, signing, "Clue?" and holding up Joe's favorite game. Smiling, Joe took it and headed downstairs for the kitchen table. Clue always got him out of bed. Nicco knew him well.

Somehow, during the course of the game, Nicco made him eat more than he had in several days, putting a few pieces of food on his plate, then a few more, until Joe had consumed an entire meal. Surprised at this, and even more surprised at the fact that he wasn't feeling nauseous, he asked Nicco, "Did you make this?"

The boy ducked his head, his fingers flying, "Restaurant is in my blood. I cook well. Tony…Tony doesn't like business. Wants to get out. If I cook good enough, maybe dad will let him go to school."

Joe sighed, knowing that Nicco was in the same boat he was. Both boys were restricted from doing what they really wanted to do because of their disabilities. Even as he thought it, though, his face flushed, ashamed that he was lumping himself in the same boat as Nicco. Though he would never be able to have a particularly active job, he would still be able to go pretty far in his life without being able to walk properly. Nicco, on the other hand, would always be held back because of the communication barrier.

He had been four the first time he met Nicco, then only one. Even at four, he knew the basic signs, and found that the easiest one, the only one a person really needed for their arsenal, was a fisted palm rubbed in a circle over one's heart. _I'm sorry_.

He used that now, then used his fingers to convey what he needed to say, "You are very good cook, Nicco, and your father will always have a place for you in his…" he forgot the sign for _business_ so used the one for _job_ instead. "But he wants Tony to like pizza, too. Understand?" he tapped the side of his head, and cocked it, realizing that he didn't feel quite so sick. Or so tired.

Being around someone worse off than he was…someone with a God-given talent that he just wanted to share…suddenly made him less bitter. Even as Nicco nodded, his face serious, someone else burst in the door, and sound flooded the room.

"Joe? Are you okay?" Biff called, looking up the stairs before spotting Joe and Nicco at the table, still set up around the game of Clue that had ended twenty minutes before (Mrs. Peacock in the library with the rope).

Biff came into the room, his big body suddenly filling it to capacity. Tony wasn't far behind him, carrying Joe's law text book. "Boy, it's quiet in here." Then he noticed Nicco, who waved his greeting.

"Hey Nicco. You sure your dad ain't looking for you?" It wasn't often that the Pritos let their disabled son far from the house, but Frank had asked for Nicco, because Joe could be watched by him without feeling like he was being baby-sat. Plus, Nicco was truly fond of Joe, understanding his plight at a deeper level than any of the other boys.

Biff, who didn't often remember to sign, spoke the words aloud, but Nicco followed them anyway. "Dad let me come out here for Joe." Tony translated the signs, because Biff wasn't adept at reading them. "Want a sandwich?" Tony rolled his eyes as he translated these: sometimes he thought that his brother's remedy for _everything_, great or small, was a sandwich.

"Did Joe eat?" Biff hedged, his voice sharp. He was obviously preparing for one of his friend's excuses and was surprised when Nicco nodded _yes_ and went off to the kitchen, bringing out a tomato, mozzarella, and lettuce sandwich in a few seconds, as if he had it ready.

Biff took a bite of the sandwich and Tony ate his in silence. "This is really good, Nick." He complimented, smiling at his younger brother. Tony knew of Nicco's pipe dream to someday own the family business instead of Tony himself, and secretly hoped that one day everything would play out in Nicco's favor.

Unfortunately, the restaurant business was a very loud one, a very communicative one. With a few small signs to Nicco, Tony spoke to Joe. "We got to get going. You guys okay here?"

"Yeah." They chorused, and after signing their goodbyes to Nicco, the two were left in the room, alone. Biff turned to Joe, surprise in his eyes. "You really ate?"

"Yeah." Joe stared down at his hands, examining the one that had been hurt, lifting all the fingers gently one by one, wincing slightly as pain erupted in them.

Biff touched his hand, stopping the self-inflicted injuries. "Frank broke up with Cathy this morning." The words were dropped carefully, like small stones down a wishing well. Joe didn't look up, couldn't, because that would betray his incredulous smile, betray his secret.

"Oh?" As if he didn't care.

Biff stared at him, and Joe saw something in his eyes. Knowledge, maybe, or pain. "Yeah. If you ask me, it's about time. There was something freaky about that girl. She just always rubbed me the wrong way."

_Rubbed me the wrong way_. Well, wasn't that the perfect choice of words? Joe's suddenly full stomach growled and he glanced over at the couch in the other room, the ultimate offender, remembering a night, alone, injured, when Cathy had found him alone and bestowed upon Joe the name _slut_.

**Review?**


	8. Is

"_I've seen your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march! It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah." __**Rufus Wainright**_

It wasn't two days later when Cathy began following Joe. Once, she cornered him between classes, stared at him with hateful green eyes. "Fix this." She hissed, touching his face in a way that sent shivers up the teen's spine. "Or you'll regret it."

But things were improving. Joe's bruises faded from a startling black-blue to a more hideous color of yellow-green. He laughed more, especially at school, and talked animatedly with Chet about the upcoming Golf season. He didn't avoid Frank in the hallways, something Frank hadn't even noticed he was doing until he suddenly stopped.

While Joe seemed to be waking up, improving with great leaps and bounds, Frank was becoming the opposite. Less animated, maybe, or perhaps just plain lonely. He missed Cathy, even though something inside him knew this was wrong. It didn't help that she started hanging around Joe, making irrational twinges of jealousy erupt in the older brother's chest.

Something was wrong about the way Cathy would interact with Joe, something in the sick expression on Joe's face, or the way her hands seemed to paw at every inch of him, not flirting, not playing. Possessing, as if Joe already belonged to her. Whenever Joe's friends saw this, they'd carefully get Joe away from Cathy, at which point the blond would look at his savior gratefully, thanks all over his face. "Sorry, Biff," Or Tony or Chet or Nicco or the ten other boys who would get him away from Cathy. "I don't know what it is about her."

"She'll get over it. She's just upset that she lost Frank."

"Yeah. I guess that's it."

But that _wasn't _it. Joe could tell, by the looks Cathy sent him in the hallways, fleeting, fierce, that it was only a matter of time before she intervened in his life again, before she made him suffer for his part in her breakup with Frank. "Frank's mine!" She would state every time she cornered him, which was entirely too often, "You get him back for me, or…" She looked Joe up and down, and for the first time Joe realized that she was taller, that she outweighed him, that he couldn't strike a girl. How was he to defend himself?

She brought her hand down until it was pressing uncomfortably against his crotch. Joe blanched in distaste, tried to get out of her grip without drawing attention from the throng of students. "Do you remember, Joey? Remember how easily I can take you, if I want." She leaned close, seemed to be about to kiss Joe, then suddenly brought up a hand and scratched Joe's face, leaving deep marks.

Before the exclamation of pain and surprise was even out of his mouth, Cathy was gone, and Joe was feeling worse than ever.

He could tell Frank or Biff or Chet or Tony, tell them about Cathy, but then he'd have to tell them about _that night_, when Joe had been home while Frank was at school and Cathy had walked in…when he was still in pain from surgeries and bullets and she'd laid next to him…no, they couldn't know that. What would they say? What would they think, and say with their eyes? He could already see the emotions: disappointment…disappointment.

And he didn't want Frank to look like that again, not after That Case, when they were in the hospital and the doctor said he'd be able to walk, but never run, no more bad guys and fighting, not if he wanted to walk at all.

And Frank had just stared, and Joe looked at the sheets, eyes burning, fists clenched, and Frank had touched his back, "it's okay, research is important, too. You know Sam…he does so much for dad."

"He does leg work, too, when dad needs back up. Who'll do that for you?" Uncertainty, and Joe shook his head and swore off detecting forever, because it was too painful, like asking a paralyzed football player to coach, even though they could never, ever be in the game again.

So he couldn't tell Frank, or his parents, or his friends. He couldn't tell anyone. _Relationships don't last forever. She'll leave for college, right? I'll be okay until then._

It was that afternoon that he began Operation Get Frank Back With Cathy.

"Maybe I broke things off too early." Frank sat with Chet at Mr. Pizza, waiting for Tony to get off work so they could catch a local band that was playing in the park. "I mean, she seemed really sorry for what she did."

"Yeah, but Frank," Chet, always the voice of reason, kept his voice low, yet it was firm, demanded attention. "Remember _why_ she was sorry? She poisoned Joe, gave him way too many pills. You couldn't let her get away with that." He examined his friend and said, gently this time, "I know you thought you loved her, man, but she wasn't right for you."

"How do you know?" Frank asked, watching Nicco make a pizza with everything on it, smoothing out the dough as if it was just that easy to get all the lumps out, to cover up holes. "Everyone deserves a second chance." He looked up, waved to Tony, and pretended to forget about the conversation, about his love, about Cathy.

But love doesn't let you forget, and Cathy sat next to him all day, making sure he smelled the perfume tumbling off her, smelling like pines and gingerbread and winter. She looked at him and, whenever he caught her eye, she would mouth _I'm so sorry_.

He couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take being so near to her and not be able to do anything about it. One day, he just mouthed back _I know_.

The next day they were together again, though Frank saw the almost imperceptible frowns on his friends' faces when he told them. Frank didn't know whether to trust Cathy. There had been an awful lot of coincidences involving his girlfriend and Joe. But he loved her, more than just about anything, and couldn't help missing her when she was gone.

"You have to talk to Joe," he told her the afternoon after they'd gotten back together. "I like you a lot, Cathy, but nothing can work out between us if you're not okay with my brother." He remembered the pills, Joe's hand, her words, _why do you always talk about Joe?_ He pushed the thoughts aside and kissed her instead, hoping that he wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Hey Frank." Biff was at his locker, staring around the dark-haired boy to look for the girlfriend. "The succubus around?"

"No, and I wish you guys wouldn't be like that about her. She's trying. Hard." Frank slammed his locker. He didn't know why he was defending his girlfriend to this extent to his friends. He'd never had to do it before. But then again, his girlfriend had never been on the edges of so many unusual coincidences before.

Biff fell into step alongside Frank, and for a moment the older boy wondered why he wasn't hovering around Joe before he remembered that this was last period. Joe had probably already ducked off campus. As if reading his mind, Biff said, "I walked him to the car. Just in case. I think he's taken enough beatings recently." He paused for a fraction of a second, letting his words, the insinuation behind them, sink in. "I know Cathy's coming over to, you know, reconcile with Joe, but I don't think he has to hang around her all night. And I don't think you really want him on your date."

Frank used to double with Joe all the time. Even before his brother had started dating, when he was fourteen and Frank was just beginning to go out with Callie, he'd bring Joe along to the movie and Joe would make himself scarce until it was time to leave again. And Frank had never been uncomfortable about that.

But now, the thought of having Joe and Cathy in one room all night made his head spin. Biff saved him. "I was thinking Joe and I would go see a movie. I don't think he could stand being in the house all night."

"Me and Cathy could leave." Frank said quickly, thinking of his younger brother, who was so sore he'd consented to bringing his cane to school, something he hated to do, thinking it made him seem weak even though Frank knew it made him so much braver than anyone else he knew.

Biff shook his head slowly. "Joe's been cooped up a lot. Plus he feels like you go out of your way to help him." He rushed on, "And I do too, and I know that, and he knows that, but…" Biff sighed, "You're his hero. It's hard for him, especially when he thinks you think he's useless."

"Did he tell you that?" Frank's voice came out harder than he'd meant and Biff stiffened, staring at him.

"Yeah. He's been saying it a lot lately. That he's useless, and a cripple, too weak to do anything." Biff lowered his voice, "He never did that before, Frank. He was so confident, and now all he does is put himself down, and…" He paused, hovering on the precipice, "I think it has something to do with Cathy."

They never talked about each other's girlfriends. It was an unwritten rule; you accept your friend's girls and never put them down, never check them out, and never flirt.

And Frank would have been angry if he hadn't seen this same thing in his brother. "He's in a bad place, Biff. He'll get over it."

_He'll get over it_. Even to Frank's own ears it sounded cold, distant. He didn't need Biff's incredulous stare to tell him that he'd passed a line.

"I'll pick up Joe at seven. Make sure he's intact until then." Biff turned away from him, leaving a cold space around Frank that said, in silence, that he'd made the wrong choice.

It was an hour later when Frank saw Joe, and he looked terrible. He was sprawled on the couch, laying on his side, his breaths coming out in short gasps as he read _A Farewell to Arms. _From his position at the door, Frank could see the cane propped on the couch next to Joe. His brother was in so much pain, and Frank didn't know what to do anymore.

"Hey kiddo." He said lightly, ruffling Joe's hair. The younger boy glanced up at him and Frank saw it in his eyes…what Biff had said was true. Joe still viewed him as his hero. How had Frank forgotten that? Ever since they were small all Joe had ever done was follow him, look up to him, try to be just like him. "So Biff wants to take you out tonight." He said, sitting on the couch near Joe's legs, which bore deep red scars from various operations. The doctors had promised that the scars would fade in time, but admitted they'd always be visible. A constant reminder of Frank's mistake.

"Like a man-date?" Joe smirked from over the top of his book. "Cool." But Frank could see his gaze light on the cane; the wince in his eyes as he imagined the strangers seeing him with the prop…there was nothing worse than unsolicited pity.

"Yeah." Frank murmured. "Like a man-date." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Listen, Joe, Cathy's coming over tonight…she's sorry about what she did to you, but if you're uncomfortable with her here, or me going out with her I completely understand." There was a part of him that wished he was the bigger man that wished he could just break off the relationship.

"You been having nightmares?" Frank asked quietly, changing the subject when Joe remained silent so long Frank felt the weight of the quiet upon him. He knew that his younger brother was prone to these night monsters, especially when he was stressed or injured.

"No. Have you?"

"Yeah." Every night. Joe, dying, the gun shot wound a foot above where it had ended up. Joe, being attacked while Frank looked on, helpless. Joe, frightened, cowering as a figure stood over him.

"Me too." Joe slid his eyes over to Frank and blinked once, long lashes coming down to frame a face that was too drawn and thin. Frank abandoned him every night, leaving him behind in favor of Cathy, but he wasn't about to tell the other boy that. Both dropped the subject, feeling marginally better. Misery loved company, after all.

He always said that he would protect his brother at all costs, but in the past four months he'd destroyed Joe's career, and found a girlfriend that may or may not have tried to poison him. But he loved her. God, he loved her.

"No, Frank." Joe's eyes were impossibly, terribly sympathetic, because he was thinking _yes, I don't have to do anything, they're already back together_. Maybe Cathy would lay off if he laid low, maybe he wouldn't hurt anymore... "We'll…we'll get along." And this admission was made even worse because Frank knew that Joe would do anything to see that Frank was happy, while Frank wasn't quite willing to give up Cathy for the same reason.

They sat side by side for a while before Frank broke the silence, glancing over at the table in the kitchen. "Want to play Clue?"

Joe's grin couldn't possibly get wider. "Thought you'd never ask, freak."

"Jerk." Frank pulled Joe to his feet and handed him the cane, watching, lips pursed, terribly sad, as Joe winced and wobbled his way towards the next room.

"Bet you it's…Frank with the book in the living room?"

"Joe with the cane in the kitchen?"

Laughing, Joe murmured under his breath, so softly that Frank could barely hear it, "Cathy with the car in the driveway," holding his hand, still grotesquely large and purple, and fingering a place on his chest where a necklace used to land.

When Cathy came in that evening she was the picture of contriteness. Carrying a stack of movies from _When Harry Met Sally _to _Rear Window_ she proclaimed that she was up for anything, and apologized up and down to Joe so profusely that she had entirely won back her boyfriend within ten minutes.

"I have all the stuff for pepperoni bread if you want to stick around, Joe." Cathy invited, her voice dripping with sweetness, although Joe could see the flash of ire behind her eyes. He declined, looking out the window as rain pattered softly down. The night was just begging for a movie.

Biff showed up promptly at seven and Joe was out the door as soon as he saw the headlights pull into the driveway: Biff was the closest to figuring out what Cathy was doing to him, and he didn't want the two in close quarters. "You okay in the rain, kiddo?" Frank asked, catching Joe's arm on the way out.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Joe tried to inject some of his old cockiness into the statement, for Frank's sake. "And you can keep her, bro." he picked up his cane and limped out the door, forgetting his jacket draped over the back of the couch.

As soon as the door closed behind him Cathy flipped the lock shut behind him and, on the pretense of needing a glass of water, got Frank out of the room long enough to lock the garage, back, and side doors.

Outside, the storm raged stronger, rain pelting down harder than before. Joe and Biff laughed through the latest out-of-Japan action movie and grabbed a burger and fries. Joe pretended not to notice that Biff was staring at him too long, making sure he ate. For his part, just to appease his best friend, he did eat. Biff stared at him, his expression unreadable, before asking, quietly. "Do you like Cathy?"

"What?" The younger boy sputtered, surprised even as his body went cold at the mention of the name. "Yeah, I mean." He shrugged, coughed, "I kind of wish she hadn't given me all those pills, but look at what she does to my brother. He can't keep away."

Biff turned hard, and Joe kept talking, willing to say anything to keep this conversation away, "I'm fine, Biff, really. Frank really likes her. A lot. He hasn't liked anyone since Callie."

"And you haven't been out with a girl since Iola. Love isn't a reason, Joe, it's an excuse." Biff's voice was gentle but firm. "Even if Frank was over the moon, honest to God in love with this girl, who, by the way, has never even given any of his friends the time of day, but even if he was in love with her, he'd drop her in a minute if he knew you were being hurt because she was around." He thought of Frank, who had indeed broken up with Cathy after the pill incident, but had also taken the girl back.

But if there was any proof, if Frank got an inkling that Joe was uncomfortable or that Cathy was a sadist, he would dump her and be done with it, even if he was acting like a jerk now.

He stared at Joe, his face concerned. "You know that, right?" His voice got softer, gentler, "He didn't mean to walk away during the fight, Joe. It was a miscommunication." The big teen swallowed, then looped his arm around his best friend, "He loves you, Joe. More than anything."

"I know." Joe murmured. "But Cathy isn't doing anything to me, okay? It's just…bad coincidence."

Biff nodded slowly. "If you say so buddy. " They left the restaurant and Biff drove Joe home. On the way, Biff's mother called, ranting about a criminal on the loose and begging him to come home.

"Sorry about the quick drop-off, Joe," Biff apologized, rolling down the window of his car as it idled outside of the Hardy home, "But my mom's really worried. You okay from here?"

"I think I can limp forty feet, thanks man." Joe got around the car, sheltering himself from the rain and heard Biff's car start up, speeding down the street. It took him a second to plant his cane on the step, another few to get his leg on the slippery slope. He twisted the knob, cursing himself for forgetting his key, his coat.

Locked. "Frank!" He pounded on the door, his shout drowned out by the wind and thunder. "Frank, open up!"

He was tired and cold and wet and wanted to be inside. Where was Frank? He knew that his brother was home, inside the house. The van was visible through one of the garage windows and Frank wouldn't have been stupid enough to take out the motorcycles in weather like this. He pounded again, his cane slipping a little, causing him to pitch forward to land, hard, against the door.

Thunder drowned out even his loudest calls and Joe slumped against the door, shivering in his T-shirt. His wallet was in his back pocket, but what good would that do him? He didn't have a cell phone on him, or his jacket.

In too much pain to even consider limping all the way down to Chet's house three miles away, Joe curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his banged up leg and bowing his head into his lap. "Frank!" He called desperately, hoping to be heard over the screams of the tempest.

Inside, Frank glanced out of the house. "Where's Joe?" He asked aloud. "This storm's getting violent."

"Maybe the movie ran late. He'll be fine." Cathy pulled Frank on top of her and he pushed the thoughts of Joe to the back of his mind. Biff was with him. What's the worst that could happen?

Outside, impossibly cold and wet, Joe wondered if this was somehow the last straw, if (when) he got inside, to Frank, would he tell him about Cathy? Cathy, who was certainly behind this locked door? He shivered, hugged his leg close to his chest and remembered something that Biff had said, _He loves you, Joe_. Would his big brother, his idol and hero, still love him if he knew what a coward he was being?

_More than anything_.

**Review? **


	9. Gonna

_Forward the Light Brigade! Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldiers knew someone had blunder'd, theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred. **Alfred, Lord Tennyson**_

Frank walked Cathy to the door, kissing her for five minutes just in the foyer. It was late, but also (finally) Friday. "You did great with Joe. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." She kissed him again, for good luck, maybe, and pulled the door open, letting Frank gape at the huddled, crouched form of his brother, asleep or unconscious against the door.

"Joe?" Frank's voice came out automatically soft, gentle, but his movements were contrastingly quick and sharp. A pulse, steady breaths, but Joe was shaking, shivering, quaking with a force that Frank had rarely seen. The blue-black mess of his barely-healing hand stood out against the white paleness of the rest of his skin.

He lifted the blond head onto his lap, estimating, thinking. "Cathy, I need blankets, and get hot water boiling." He thought, "And start a bath."

She left, fleeing the room and a conscience that she had long ago forgotten. Frank cradled Joe's head in his lap. "What's wrong with you, little brother?" and he wasn't just referring to this incident. He was thinking about Brent and the beating, about the accidental near-poisoning at the hands of his girlfriend, about the hand and the lost weight and that _leg_. He buried his face in Joe's hair, hoping that the unseeing boy could recognize and understand this gesture.

Slowly, blue eyes opened, and stared at Frank, large, betrayed. "F-Frank?" the stutter made Frank's heart break even more.

"Cathy!" He called, causing Joe to flinch and curl in on himself. Cursing quietly, Frank tried to transfer whatever heat he held to the boy that deserved it so much more. Joe, even crushed against his chest, was feather-light. He needed to redress that. Soon.

His girlfriend rounded the corner, her long, lithe body moving like a cat. In her hand was a stack of blankets and, amazingly, towels, an oversight on Frank's part. She was unfolding the blankets, draping them with the uncanny ability of a female over Joe before she even reached him. She looked between the brothers, true sympathy on her face. "The bath is running. I figured luke-warm was better than hot. Do you need anything else? Should I call someone?"

Frank shook his head, bowing over Joe. Hypothermia was terrible, but they'd dealt with it enough to know how to treat it. Joe would be okay by morning. Aching and sore and probably suffering from a cold, but okay. "Thanks, Cathy!" He called to her retreating back, already beginning to hoist Joe into his arms.

It was tribute to how out of it Joe was that he didn't protest, though his hands did clench a little tighter to the fabric of Frank's shirt, the only sign that he was still mostly conscious. He winced as Joe let out a small moan of pain and knew that he was hurting him, however unintentionally. "'M sorry, Joey." He murmured, wrapping the blanket tighter around Joe's trembling body.

The bath was full by the time Frank got to it. Another tell of how sick or in pain Joe was that he didn't object to Frank pulling off his clothes. In a few minutes, the tremors lessened to the point where Joe's eyes opened, looking at Frank blearily. He opened his mouth, croaked, and shook his head.

"You probably shouldn't talk, bro. Nod if you want soup. Tea?" Frank laid some clean clothes next to the bath, letting his hand fall on Joe's skin before sitting on the side of the tub, head in hand.

"You have to stop worrying me, Joe." He murmured, words muffled by big hands, words muffled in a throat closed by unshed tears, unvoiced anxieties. "I don't know what to do anymore. Should I tell mom and dad that I can't take care of you? Should I…break up with Cathy again?" he ran a hand through his hair. "You're getting so thin, Joe, and so quiet."

Joe's breathing had evened, though his body continued to shake, quake. Frank would wake him up, make him drink tea, force him into warm clothes and under blankets. He wished that the younger boy was awake, so they could talk like they used to in those months after the accident, before Cathy, talking about a now-uncertain future, about a more exciting past, about an embarrassing present.

Frank wanted to tell Joe that he was the bravest person he knew, that, even though he knew Joe idolized him, it really should be the other way around. He wanted to say that, but he couldn't. The old Joe, the one before the accident, the reckless, careless, cocky boy, would never want to hear that sentiment. The new Joe was afraid of it.

He added more hot water to the bath, watched Joe sink deeper into the steam, into dreams that made his face screw up in pain, his mouth open in an _O_ of frustration, anguish. Frank fled the bathroom, leaving behind the most important person in his life. He made tea, because that was something he'd been able to do since he was a child.

Since they were very, very little, he and Joe had wanted to be detectives, because they saw their father doing that. Because, when the time came, they ended up having the skills: they were nosy, and Frank had the right mind for clues, and Joe was so good at talking to people, at getting information out of them. They worked seamlessly, as a team, and they were _good_ at it.

Frank's only regret was that they'd been hurt far too often. Just about every case one or the both of them would end up in the hospital – and even Frank had to admit that it was usually Joe more than him, because Frank drew the line at reckless while Joe seamed to go barreling over it. But the process of being injured only to turn out remarkably fine, in the end, had led to believe what all teenagers, at some point, had faith in. That they were unbeatable apart, invincible together.

Until that day. Until Joe's leg. And Frank had never, ever been so ashamed, to guilty about what happened. It had been his stupid mistake: he wanted more evidence, Joe wouldn't leave the house without him, and Joe had ended up paying the price.

And now _this_. Every day, Joe getting hurt in increasingly dramatic ways, every day, bits of the old Joe dropping off until the ghost of a person left behind was meek, scared, even.

His hand shook as he reached for the tea bag, ripped it open. Everything, all of this, had been his fault. He saw that now. He just had to figure out how to make it better, somehow.

The familiar motions of making tea were calming, anchored him to the world, and coaxed tears onto his cheeks. The past few weeks had been one screwed up event after another. Even when they were doing cases regularly, when one would be up for trial and another would be on the dockets and a third would be in active pursuit, even when the boys had so many awful people who would love nothing more than to see them hurt, neither had been this…_unlucky_.

The hand. The beating. The medication. The storm. Frank sighed, poured the tea, breathed in the scent.

He thought of his mother, who would always fuss when the brothers came back from a case, broken bones and bruises and pride in tow. He thought of his father, who would hide his anxiety as best he could but would turn white when he came into a hospital room and saw one of the boys hooked up to tubes and beeping machines.

And Joe, asleep in the bathtub upstairs (that thought sent him running, thinking of drowning and water in the lungs), Joe, who had always done everything in his power to make people around him happy. His little brother.

Joe was indeed asleep in the bathtub, but his head rested on his bare chest. Frank coaxed him out of the bath, wrapping him in a towel and pressing a cup of tea into his shaking hands. "You okay, kiddo?" He asked, rubbing Joe's hair dry as the younger boy clutched the towel closer to his shivering body.

It wasn't until Joe was asleep and Frank was sitting in a chair next to him, staring, waiting, watching, that he realized that the reason Joe had been out in the rain and the cold in the first place was because the door, always left open because of Joe's inability to keep a key on his person, had been locked.

**Frank is so, so close to piecing it together, but we can't help but torture Joe just a little bit more. **

**As always, please review.**


	10. Save

_To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But, then, one suffers from not loving. So, to love is to suffer, to not love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore, to be unhappy, one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer too much happiness --- I hope you're getting this down. **Woody Allen**_

Joe woke warm, too warm. He threw off the covers and twisted, trying to find a comfortable position. He sneezed, which made his whole body hurt.

"Hey." Frank was next to him, his voice too soft, too low, as if he was an invalid, or dying. Except Joe could tell he wasn't dying. He'd come close, a couple of times, and it didn't feel like this. "You okay?"

Joe waved him off, making a face that showed that he wasn't exactly fine, per se, but he'd get over it. He swung his good leg over the side of the bed and attempted to stand up only to sway dangerously. Frank pushed him back down, an action that used too little strength. Both boys ignored the fact that Joe could be pushed over easier than a three year old.

"Want breakfast?" Joe's stomach clenched at the idea and he shook his head, croaking, "tea?" His voice was nowhere near a hundred percent, wasn't even at fifty. That's what he got for shouting in the cold during a storm.

Frank took one last, guilty look at him, something that Joe knew he'd have to remedy sooner rather than later. As he beat a hasty retreat in search of tea, Joe thought about Cathy. He didn't know how many more of her sabotages he could take. How many more he would even survive? As much as he hated the idea, he knew that the time for telling Frank had probably come, even if he was worried about what his brother would think of him. Would Frank validate everything Cathy had been saying? Would he ever look at Joe the same way?

He didn't even want to admit the whole story to himself. It was painful and embarrassing beyond belief, and made him look like the helpless cripple he knew he was. He remembered Cathy's insults: Cripple, invalid, whore, useless. Useless.

Would he really risk more injuries so that Frank wouldn't view him as a coward? It was tempting.

Frank stuck his head in the door, and Joe could read every line of worry and pity and sorrow on his brother's face. Frank looked old, and Joe felt terrible because he knew he'd been the person to make him look like that. "If I run to the store for just a minute you won't die, right Joe?" Under other circumstances, the question would have been funny, but things had been recently turned upside down.

Joe nodded, making a show of snuggling himself more securely under the covers. "Some Saturday, huh?" his throat was so dry that he would be surprised if Frank made out any of the words, but his brother nodded, flinging himself down the stairs. Not a minute later, Joe heard the car pull out of the driveway.

Sighing, Joe reached for the nearest book, coming up once again with _Catch-22_. He thumbed to a little past the middle, where he'd last stopped reading. He kept putting the book down, finding it hitting a little too close to home.

A rock and a hard place was something that he could understand. He practically lived in the middle ground now.

The door opened downstairs and Joe registered it, vaguely noting that Frank must have flown to the store and back if he had returned in this kind of time.

A shadow actually fell over his book, like in the movies, and Joe turned to face Cathy. He rolled his eyes, "seriously, locking me out? Is that the best you can do?" he sneezed, which didn't help his argument, but he was feeling vulnerable from his position. He sized Cathy up and reckoned she probably outweighed him by now, and with his maneuverability limited by his leg, which had crumbled under him last night, he didn't think he could move more than a few feet.

He used to take out two guys at a time, three if they were small. He used to be the brawns of the organization, all muscle and guts. What the hell had happened to that Joe?

Cathy smirked at him, and Joe wondered how his brother could possibly like this she-devil. Every time she looked at him he knew that all she wanted was to see him in pain, or six feet under. She pouted, as if she was put out by something Joe had said, and then flipped onto his legs, eliciting a small moan of pain as Joe tried to reflexively curl towards the aching limb.

"You just won't back off, will you?" He thought of all the other times he'd been trapped in this position, with different villains in different countries. It always ended the same way…_It'll be okay, just stall. Frank will come_.

Frank will come.

Joe clenched his jaw, trying to hold back his pain. "I have barely seen Frank since he got with you. It'd be interesting to know how you won him back."

She smiled as if she was proud of this feat. Her fist came at his stomach, lazily as if she didn't care whether it landed or not. Of course she hit right at the mess of bruises that was currently his body.

Joe had never hit a girl, not even when, in the same situation, he might have hit a guy. He didn't believe that a gentleman should ever lay a hand on a lady. "Stop." He warned, wishing that his voice came out in something more than an awful squeak, wishing he could just throw Cathy off of him and expose her for who she was.

But then he'd have to admit the part he'd played in the whole thing, the small part, the unwilling part, and then Frank would never rescue him again.

"Frank's not here, kid." As if she'd read his mind. Cathy smiled sweetly as she pressed harder against his leg. "What are you going to do?"

Abandoning every principle he'd ever had concerning girls, he grabbed her arm and held it tight. He hadn't lost much muscle mass in his arms – they'd maneuvered wheelchairs, then crutches, then canes, and made it easy for him to hang on tight as ever. "Stop." He ordered through clenched teeth.

"What's going on here?" Frank entered the room, and Joe felt his insides uncoil in relief at the sound of his voice. He managed to twist his head, to smile, maybe even to say something clever, but then he saw the expression on Frank's face….Frank, who had seen his brother holding Cathy on his bed, and jumped to all the wrong conclusions.

Cathy took advantage of Joe's second of incredulity, read her boyfriend right and played the part to a tee. "Joe, let _go_ of me. Please…" she tugged and Joe let go, too unsettled by the change of pace to do anything else. Cathy flew across the room, into Frank's waiting arms. "Frank…" Cathy even managed a fake sob as she leaned into her boyfriend.

Frank hugged her, glaring at Joe. "Why don't you wait downstairs honey?" he suggested, kissing her hair and closing the door behind her.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Frank yelled, advancing on Joe who was too surprised at the sudden change of events to move. He seemed instead to fold in on himself, crushed, closed off. "I leave for…for _five_ minutes and I come back to find you…and her…"

"It wasn't what it looked like, Frank." Joe assured him, but he sounded tired, not mad or defensive. "Really." He glanced at Frank's raised hand and sighed, looking too frail for the large bed he was sitting in.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't fend off Cathy and his brother…his big brother who he looked up to, who he admired. Frank was his hero, his reason for keeping quiet about Cathy for so long. If he was going to start hating Joe, going to start hitting him too…well, Joe knew he wouldn't be able to survive that for long.

But even in his anger, Frank recognized defeat when he saw it. He let out a long, low breath and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. After a moment of silence, he murmured, "I wasn't going to hit you."

Joe shook slightly, glanced away, "I know."

They were quiet for another minute and then Frank asked, "What happened, Joe?"

"Nothing, bro. Cathy came in here and got a little…overzealous." He stared at his dresser, because there was every chance that Frank would see through his lie. If anyone could, it would be him. They used to know each other so _well_.

"That's not what I meant." Frank cast about for words. "What _happened_?" His voice cracked on the word and he pulled Joe into a hug, hurt a more scared than he was willing to admit when Joe stiffened in his arms before leaning into the embrace.

Something had happened to his baby brother. Something terrible had made him like this, and Frank was going to find out.

For a seventeen-year-old, Joe had done a lot. He'd busted several crime rings. He'd been arrested, shot, and poisoned. He'd been kidnapped, drugged, and left for dead. He'd been beaten up more times than he could count. He'd been to every continent except Antarctica.

But the one thing he was most proud of was, no matter how hurt he was, no matter how bad things got, he had never, ever sobbed in front of his brother. Until now.

**Review? Please. It feeds the idea monkeys.**


	11. Me

_"You can't hide your lyin' eyes, and your smile is a thin disguise. I thought by now you'd realize there ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes." **The Eagles (who also wrote the chapters' quote 'I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me' in their song 'Take it Easy')**_

There, on his own bed, in a sunny room, Joe broke down. "Cathy." He started, and once he began he couldn't stop. "She…she did _everything_."

Frank had thought, had suspected, but the admittance made him pull back until he said, reflexively, stupidly, "She couldn't have."

"She did." The blond boy turned away. "I'm sorry." His entire body was shaking with sobs, where just hours before they were trembling from the cold.

Frank was sorry, too, but for different reasons, better reasons. He was supposed to protect Joe, had spent most of his life doing just that, and had let him down. Even worse, he'd somehow conveyed that he was okay with the abuse, that he wouldn't care if Joe told him what was going on. How could Joe have believed that?

"There's nothing to be sorry about, bro." He mindlessly patted Joe's hand, already transferring his anger from Joe to himself. To Cathy.

Cathy, who had persuaded Joe to come outside to help her with her car, who had pulled Frank away from the fight, who had given Joe too many pills and locked the door and had probably been (here Frank turned red, too angry to even think it) about to beat up a boy who wouldn't fight back, even if he could, out of an inbred respect for the _fair sex._

"I should have known…God, Joe, why didn't you tell me? How long has this been going on?" Joe shrugged, composing himself. "I knew I should have stayed broken up with her after the pill thing…after she got you beat up." He looked at his brother, wary, "Did she arrange that?"

Joe nodded once. "I shouldn't have taken six pills. That was stupid."

"She shouldn't have given you six pills. Don't you see? It should've never even been an option." He ran a hand through his hair, putting a hand on Joe's arm, careful not to press to hard, careful not to hurt. "How did I ever even…"

"She's a really good liar." Joe muttered, "she had me fooled."

Frank brought his eyebrows together. "What'd she say to you?"

Joe struggled up to his elbows, realized he really didn't feel good enough to do that, and fell back onto the bed, "Nothing…just…kept telling me I was useless, a cripple….stuff like that." He left out _whore_. He didn't look forward to telling that part of the story. It would come out soon, anyway. He couldn't look at Frank, especially when he admitted, quietly, "She said you felt that way, too."

"You didn't believe her?" But it was so obvious he had. Frank shook his head, carefully maneuvering himself so he could hug Joe, doing it as carefully as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. "Why would you trust anything she said? Joe, you know I don't think that. Not at all." He measured each word for emphasis. "You, little brother, are the bravest person I know. Really. You're strong and funny and kind. You always have your heart in the right place."

"Fat lot of good it did me." Joe whispered. "I really screwed up, Frank."

"I'll take care of it. She won't get anywhere near you again." Frank smiled wryly, "Maybe Biff will speak to me again if I told him where Cathy lives."

"You can't do that, Frank." But his heart wasn't in it, and he smiled a little.

The two were quiet for a minute. Frank was in no hurry to get out of the room….Cathy was surely long gone by now. "Hey, Joe." He asked, "Why did she have it in for you? She just moved here…did you spit in her coffee or something?"

This was the part that Joe had been dreading. "She didn't hate me when you first started going out…remember the day you were stuck at the school because the van had overheated and I caught a ride home with Biff?"

"Yeah."

"Well, right after I got home Cathy stopped by. I figured you two had a date planned so I let her in." he paused, twisting his hands in the sheets. "She…kept coming on to me. Really strong. I told her to back off and she told me to sleep with her."

"What?" Frank couldn't believe something like this actually happened in real life, in his life.

"I told her I wouldn't, I mean," Joe blushed, his face and ears turning scarlet, "She's your girlfriend, but not even that…I never even slept with Iola. I just don't think that's how it's supposed to work."

"Did anything happen?" Because then he'd have to hunt down Cathy himself, shake her, scream, hate himself again for bringing her into Joe's life, then he'd go back and hold Joe until he made his baby brother believe the truth: that he loved him more. More than anything.

Joe shook his head. "She tried – I tried to fight her off, but after the surgeries and everything -- I was just so _tired_, so – she's bigger than me, though. Got me down on the couch…" he trailed off, remembering his fists flailing, Cathy's laugh, terrible to his ears _don't tell me you don't want this_. "She heard your car in the driveway and got off. Told me she wasn't finished."

Frank shook his head, trying to understand. "So she tried to kill you because you wouldn't fool around with her?"

"You really know how to pick them, bro." Joe smiled a little, even though it wasn't funny. Not even close. He had avoided Cathy's advances then, but she'd attempted to engage him every time they met, with an icy, dangerous smile that sent chills up his spine. He knew that, the way they were going, Cathy would one day catch him completely alone, and there was nothing he could do when that day came.

Frank didn't know what to say. How do you apologize for bringing a psychopath, a murderer, into someone's life? "I'm sorry." He said again, "I should have been paying more attention."

Joe shrugged, "You were in love. It's understandable." He raised an eyebrow, a symbol of disapproval, "Not that I'm encouraging you to do it again. I don't think I'll survive another go." He was only half-joking; he was sure that another hell-week with Cathy would have left him scarred for life, if not actually dead.

Frank didn't reply to that, he couldn't think of a way he could. Instead, he gently patted Joe's arm, just barely hearing his brother whisper, "I think we should call dad."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Chief Collig, but dad works, too." They had to get Cathy for…something. She had attempted to kill Joe. There was no way she should get away with it. He picked up the phone, dialed the number, memorized in childhood, got connected instantly with Con Riley on the Bayport Police Force, who connected them with the Chief.

"When you get off the phone, let me call Biff. He's wanted to know the story for weeks now." Joe didn't make an attempt to move; his body was sore, still burning with fever. His throat was still on fire, but the knowledge that he wouldn't be subjected to any more attacks any time soon was so soothing he could think past the pain.

He dozed off, the traumatic events of the morning and the night before…all the nights before…catching up with him. When Frank walked back in the room fifteen minutes later, Joe's blond hair was flopping in front of his eyes, his near-translucent hand in a death grip around the sheets.

Frank tried to place the phone gently down on the bedside, but either his entrance or his movement made Joe stir, open his eyes. "So what happened with the Chief?"

Nothing good, Frank knew. It was a mess of borders and cross-jurisdiction and Frank knew from experience that by the time a warrant for Cathy's arrest came out, the girl in question would be away, out of the state. "Don't worry about it." He told the ill and injured boy, rubbing the blonde's head gently, "I've got it covered."

And Joe smiled, because he knew that Frank _always_ had it covered. "Good." He picked up the phone, dialed Biff's number, but looked up at his brother before pressing the CALL button. "Hey, Frank?" He asked quietly, one hand reaching out to hold Frank's. "Are we… okay?"

Joe's hand felt like a child's – it's skin stretched tight, soft after months of inactivity. Frank squeezed it, like he used to when Joe climbed into his bed seeking comfort from the monsters of the night. "Yeah, Joe. Of course. We're good." He sat down, enveloped his brother in a hug that was so long overdue, felt Joe relax against him. "We're going to be fine."

**Epilogue**

For the rest of the day after Joe's confession, Frank never left his brother's side. They played countless games of Jenga, Scrabble, Yahtzee, Clue, Monopoly. Joe accused him of cheating at every one. They took frequent breaks, and Joe would doze off while Frank made him things to eat – tiny sandwiches, a cup of soup, numerous cups of tea. Joe ate it all ravenously.

The next day, two days before the Hardy parents were due home, Biff, Chet, Tony, and Nicco came over, laden with movies and food, itching to hear the story. Joe told Biff first, and the seventeen-year-old's jaw literally fell.

"You could have told me, buddy. I would never think you were any of those things." Biff hugged his best friend fiercely, working to blink back tears that would have seriously damaged his reputation.

"Yeah, we love you man." Chet said, reaching out one hand to comfort the blond boy who had been like a brother to him, especially after his own sister died.

Tony was standing next to his best friend and was watching Frank's jaw tighten every time a different angle of Joe would reveal more injuries, more bruises. "You couldn't have known, Frank. None of us knew."

Nicco, who was watching them very closely, signed something too quickly for anyone but his brother to pick up. "He was good at hiding it." Tony interpreted. "Even Nicco didn't know, and he's, like, clairvoyant about people."

Just like Joe, who always had those gut instincts about the bad guys they used to catch, who had turned to stone at the first sight of Cathy, though Frank had just chalked it up to a being around a pretty girl so soon after Iola's death.

"Hey buddy," Tony's slight frame bumped against Frank's, settled there, his expressive, dark eyes revealing emotions he couldn't voice, "Are you okay? I know that she wasn't caught, but she's gone now, she can't hurt you."

"Yeah." Frank murmured, still watching Joe carefully. "Yeah, she can't hurt us."

He didn't know if that was true. He didn't know if the psychopath he'd once called the love of his life would dare to take another swipe at his brother. He didn't know if he or Joe would ever be truly safe, because of the sheer number of people they'd incriminated and put behind bars. All he knew was that he would look after Joe, that he would always have his back, that the partnership worked both ways.

And he just had to hope that that was enough.

**The End.**

**This was a little rushed, mostly because the denouement is not our forte, if you catch the drift, but it's also open ended, in case anyone else wants to take Cathy out for a spin, or we want to use her again.**

**Anyways, please review.**


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